The Psychology of I Miss You
by Veritas Found
Summary: For them, 'I miss you' is something easier done than said.


**Title:** "The Psychology of I Miss You"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** (Tenth) Doctor, Donna Noble; Doctor x Rose, Lee x Donna

**Challenge / Series:** The Psychology Series

**Theme / Prompt:** N/A

**Word Count:** 1,125

**Rating:** K Plus / PG

**Summary:** For them, 'I miss you' is something easier done than said.

**Notes / Spoilers:** S4, between Forest of the Dead and Midnight. Spoilers for the former.

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"_**The Psychology of I Miss You"**_

Neither had really spoken since leaving the Library. For him, the universal tour guide who babbled on a mile a minute, it was uncharacteristic (he had, after all, left the brooding behind last body). For her, so used to putting him in his place and loudness in general, it was weird. For them, always laughing and shouting and making noise across the galaxies, it was unheard of.

But what was there to say, and how to say it? He felt obligated to mourn the woman who was obviously so important to the future him, yet all the while he was drowning in the guilt that came with the idea of forgetting the one who was still so important to him now. And though she'd normally slap him and tell him he was being a big ol' space dunce ("You mourn. You heal. You move on, but you _never_ forget."), she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him for doing exactly what she was. And therein lay the problem, because his grief was _real_, tangible. He was mourning the one he thought he'd never get over, as well as the one some him had with. Who was she so upset over losing? A figment, a program of the perfect man created by her subconscious desires. Donna McAvoy had never really existed because Lee McAvoy had never really existed – and that, she thought, was what hurt the most.

But all the same, Lee wasn't real. Lee had never _been_ real. Professor Song had. Rose had. How could she have the audacity to mourn him when the Doctor actually had reason? When he had lost so much more, by the nature of reality and the fact he had lost two someones? In light of that, and of the fact that she still mourned her Lee anyway, she had taken to avoidance, awkward silences when in the same room as he.

And because he had already half-destroyed Martha Jones with his grief over the one, he had taken to avoiding Donna Noble so as to keep her from his grief over the one and the other.

So when she entered the console room nearly a week later to find him slumped on the jump seat, staring listlessly at the central column, her first thought was to run. Before he noticed her, ideally, but then he went and shot that plan straight to hell.

"We have to stop this," he said, his gaze never leaving the idly pulsing rotor. His face remained neutrally blank, even when she crossed the room and sat down beside him. "We're being depressing. And pathetic. We need to stop this."

"Think that's the point of being depressed, being depressing," she said. He pulled a face.

"I don't like depressing," he said, "and I'm not depressed."

"You're brooding," she said.

"I don't brood," he rejoined, and she snorted.

"Oh, believe me, Sunshine, you brood," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, so are you!" he snapped irritably, his voice almost a whine, and she deflated against the chair.

"Yeah," she sighed after a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he truly sounded it. "You miss him."

"So do you," she said, and at his look she frowned. "Well, not _him_ – you didn't know him. But her – them. Professor Song and Rose."

He sucked in a breath, and she knew she'd hit too close to home.

"Yes," he finally said, the admission coming as a resigned – defeated – breath. "I…yes. So much."

They lapsed back into silence, unable to look or talk to each other yet still unable to leave the other alone. Her mind was focused on Lee, on the promise made to her imaginary man. Could she still keep it if he wasn't real? And had she already – had she already found him, really – because of that? She wasn't sure, but then again she wasn't even sure she really wanted to know.

"I keep telling myself it gets better," he said, suddenly but not so, and she frowned at him. "It's been so long, and every morning I wake up and tell myself I won't miss her as much today."

"Every morning you wake up?" she snorted, and he smiled.

"Figuratively," he conceded. "But that's what I do, and some days it works. But then I see a flash of blonde, or I see someone or something I saw with her, or I meet someone and realize my promise to never leave her behind – never replace her – is eventually broken. It's supposed to get better, Donna. That's what everyone says."

"Does it?" she asked, and his smile was bittersweet.

"No," he said, and somehow that didn't really surprise her.

"I don't know who I feel worse over," he confessed after another lapse of silence. "Rose, for someday moving on and leaving her behind, or River because the loss – discovery – of her only makes me miss Rose more."

"I just feel stupid," she admitted, and he gave her a curious look. Her smile was weak. "Lee wasn't even real, Doctor. Rose was. Professor Song was. You're missing _real_ people, and I'm…what? Missing my imagination?"

"What is real, Donna?" he asked, and she frowned because she didn't understand what he was talking about or where he was going with that. He looked up towards the rotor. "What you felt, was it any less real just because he wasn't? You miss him, but really – and here's where we're all just a bit selfish – you miss who you were with him. How you were."

"You miss being loved," she said, and he nodded.

"And happy. Loved and happy, happy in love," he said, then he pushed out a breath and drug a hand down his face. "Blimey, I miss happy."

"Me, too," she said, and it was something purely instinctual that caused her to lean against her twig of an alien friend's shoulder and him to wrap an arm around his human companion in a comforting hug. They sat there, two mates grieving their should-have-beens and missing the ones too-soon-lost, and even if everything wasn't better yet at least it was a start.

"You know what we need, Donna?" he asked after a long while had passed, and she shook her head against his chest. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "We need a holiday. I could take us to Midnight – wonderful spa there, you'd love it – and we can just…rest. Recupe. Relax for a bit. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Sounds lovely" she said, smiling and pulling away to wipe at her eyes. He grinned at her, and if there was any sign he had cried as well she pretended not to notice.

"Brilliant. So, Midnight?" he asked, and she nodded, watching as he hoped over to the controls.

"Yeah. Midnight."


End file.
